


Hannibal vs. Los Angeles

by tanathil



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: AU - Hannibal is Not a Cannibal, Bottom Hannibal Lecter, Descriptions of Rough Sex, Dirty Talk, Hannibal is nearly 50 he's allowed to be cranky, M/M, Masturbation, Top Will Graham, Webcam/Video Chat Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:15:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26851288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanathil/pseuds/tanathil
Summary: “We are separated by over two thousand miles. You’re in no position to be telling me what to do.”“You’re being awfully mutinous today. If I were there, I’d bend you over the nearest flat surface and fuck that attitude right out of you.”“You could always try. I could always put up a fight.”Hannibal goes to L.A. and hates absolutely everything about the experience. A video chat with Will goes a long way at making him feel better.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 16
Kudos: 152





	Hannibal vs. Los Angeles

**Author's Note:**

> A fill for Kinktober, Day 5: Masturbation

This year, The American Psychiatric Association’s Annual Meeting was held in Los Angeles. It’s Hannibal’s first time visiting the city, and Los Angeles, as it quickly turned out, was very much nothing like Baltimore; everything about the place was too loud, too brash, too kitsch. It all grated against Hannibal’s nerves, made him miss the quieter, more controlled atmosphere of Baltimore where time flowed at an easier, less rushed pace.

He makes a conscious effort to not grit his teeth as he sits down on the plain wooden chair. He lays his tablet on the small table so it’s standing up, turns it on. He keeps his eyes on the screen as it comes to life, tries his best to ignore his surroundings and the way the tacky decor of his hotel room feels like a personal insult.

He checks the time from the lower corner of the bright screen; 06:10 p.m. Just after nine in Baltimore. Will should be well home by now.

He clicks the small camera icon and a square box pops open. He’s greeted by nothing but blackness for a few seconds till the picture comes alive, showing parts of a hip and thigh, the familiar profile seated on a mattress.

“Will,” Hannibal says, voice coming out sharper than he intended. He rubs at his temples, the irritating feeling of an oncoming headache making it hard to keep his temper in check.

The picture shakes as the tablet Hannibal had bought for Will is lifted up from the nightstand and then there’s Will’s face filling the screen, glasses on the edge of his nose, stubble on his cheeks, dark hair in uncontrolled disarray.

“Hannibal. How’s it going in there? Has some beautiful upcoming wannabe actor already gotten you enamoured with them? Is this going to be a breakup call?” Will’s smiling as he teases Hannibal good-naturedly. Work must’ve gone well without any new cases coming up to drag Will into one of his darker moods. His joviality feels almost annoying when Hannibal himself is so on edge, this loud city making him jittery and restless, unable to relax.

“It’s going reasonably fine,” Hannibal answers, knowing his voice sounds tight, unable to help it. Under the table, his index finger is tapping out the rhythm of a metronome against his thigh. Hannibal is not aware of this.

Will's expression sombers. He regards Hannibal through the screen with the kind of concentration that makes Hannibal feel as if Will can see right through the layers of skin and flesh and bone, all the way down into his metaphorical soul.

He huffs out a breath and averts his eyes from Will’s piercing stare. His finger keeps on tapping.

“You’re upset,” Will finally concludes, the previous teasing tone nowhere to be found.

“I’m not upset,” Hannibal says in what is very much not an insolent mutter, still refusing to look at Will.

“Don’t lie to me.” Will’s voice comes out like the crack of a whip, harsh, reprimanding. Hannibal can feel it like a physical touch, making him sit up a bit straighter, a shiver running through his spine. He looks at the screen, meets Will’s eyes defiantly.

“We are separated by over two thousand miles. You’re in no position to be telling me what to do.” Even as Hannibal says the words he can feel his heart starting to beat faster with excitement. His palms feel sweaty where they rest against his thighs. Unnoticed by either of them, the finger ceases its motion.

A smile returns to Will’s face, this one a bit more darker, showing that much more teeth.

“You’re being awfully mutinous today. If I were there, I’d bend you over the nearest flat surface and fuck that attitude right out of you.”

Hannibal’s cock twitches at the words. Will’s eyes watching him through the screen look bright, a promise hiding in their depths.

“You could always try. I could always put up a fight.” The words come out testingly, a question masquerading as a statement. Anticipation twists Hannibal’s stomach.

Will laughs, a low chuckle, accepting Hannibal’s game.

“You could, couldn’t you? I’d still win. I’d pin you against that ugly wallpaper I can see behind your back, lower your trousers just enough for me to fuck inside. If I were feeling nice, I might even use lube. Though I think I wouldn’t. Lube is for good boys.”

Hannibal’s breath catches in his throat. He slumps a bit where he sits, spreading his thighs wider, right hand sliding between them, and starts palming his cock through the layers of fabric covering it. Will must know what he’s doing, must see the muscles in his arm shifting with his movements, but he doesn’t comment on it.

“I’d bring my fingers to your mouth for you to bite down on to stifle your screams. And you would be screaming, ‘cause you’d be dry and unstretched and it would hurt so fucking much. We wouldn’t want to disturb your peers just because you can’t behave yourself.”

Hannibal moans, head falling back, eyes closing. His underwear’s getting damp with precome, making the friction less chafing as he rubs his cock. He starts rocking his hips against his hand, ears trained on Will’s voice.

“I’d fuck you so good. You wouldn’t be able to sit without pain for days, and you would absolutely love it, wouldn’t you? The masochistic slut that you are.”

“Yes…” Hannibal breathes the word out, Will’s voice like an intense, living thing caressing his body. It’s good, Will always makes everything good, and Hannibal feels so very grateful.

“I’d pull out before I came, make you kneel for me. I’d hold your head still as I fucked your mouth, past your gag reflex, make you choke on it.”

Will falls silent for a few seconds. Hannibal ruts against his hand, holds his breath, waits, waits…

“I would have torn you up as I fucked you, with you being so fucking tight and dry. There’d probably be some blood, slicking up your hole, my cock. I wouldn’t even wipe it off before I fucked your mouth. I’d make you swallow it, right alongside my come.”

Behind his closed eyelids Hannibal can picture it perfectly; him, kneeling on the floor, still mostly clothed and Will there, standing before him, naked and proud and beautiful, cock jutting up, the shaft glistening with the wetness of Hannibal’s own blood.

Hannibal licks his dry lips, the phantom taste of iron heavy on his tongue, and he presses his palm down harshly and pushes his hips up and he comes with a groan, back bowing, the darkness behind his eyelids turning to bright whiteness.

He crashes against the uncomfortable wooden chair, breathing harshly, struggling to open his eyes as the aftereffects of his orgasm course through his body. He looks at Will, the eyes meeting his through the screen much gentler now. Will’s face carries the look of a man utterly pleased with himself.

“Are we feeling better now?” Will asks, the cheeky thing.

Hannibal breathes out a laugh. “Yes. We’re feeling better.”

“Glad I could help. I miss you,” Will says in a quiet, private tone. The games are over. Hannibal wishes more than anything that he could touch him. Coming here was such a mistake.

“I miss you too. Two more days, Will, then I’ll be back in Baltimore.”

“Yeah.” Will looks down, picks at a cracked cuticle. “Hannibal, if things get too much, you can always call me, right? You know I don’t mind.”

Hannibal smiles. “I know, Will.”

“Good. I just wanted to make sure.”

They talk for twenty more minutes. Hannibal mostly listens as Will tells him about his workday, his dogs, about the newest fight Zeller and Price are having over some mundane topic. It’s nice, pleasant, the normalcy of it helping to settle Hannibal’s frayed nerves even more.

Eventually they bring the call to an end. Will’s smile is soft and warm when he says, “Talk to you tomorrow? The same time if nothing else comes up?”

“The same time. Goodnight, Will.”

They disconnect the video call. Hannibal closes the tablet, rises, takes off his suit. He removes his sticky underwear in the bathroom, wets a somewhat soft hand towel to cleanse the half dried come from his pubic hairs, ponders if he should just go hungry or order something that will surely be disappointing from the room service.

Later, as he’s brushing his teeth, staring at his reflection in the mirror under the sickly yellow fluorescent lighting, he wonders if Will could be swayed to play out all those things he’d described doing to him once Hannibal’s back home.

He has an inkling he might be. Will’s always good to him, like that.

**Author's Note:**

> I also post tons of shorter pieces on Twitter in the form of fic threads. Come say hi! :) [@DEFONI IS WRITING SMUT ON TWTR](https://twitter.com/Defoni)
> 
> And the Kinktober fills not posted on Ao3 can be found here: [@DEFONI IS WRITING FILTH FOR KINKTOBER](https://twitter.com/Defoni/status/1311613992964628480)


End file.
